


A for Effort

by draculard



Series: Comfortween [17]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Established Relationship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Bilbringi AU, Stress Dreams, Thrawn Lives AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:00:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27053056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Thrawn is exceptional at many things.When he wakes his spouse up from a nightmare by smacking him, Pellaeon learns thatcomforting peopleis not one of them.
Relationships: Gilad Pellaeon/Thrawn | Mitth’raw’nuruodo
Series: Comfortween [17]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946224
Comments: 3
Kudos: 48
Collections: Comfortween 2020





	A for Effort

Somehow, turbolaser fire had broken right through the Chimaera’s shields, and now the transparisteel viewport on the bridge was splintering. Pellaeon heard himself shouting for the safety doors — then saw himself slamming his hand down on the emergency protocol button — but nothing happened. The durasteel barriers remained locked in place; the transparisteel cracked open.

The air was sucked from the bridge a moment later.

And just as Pellaeon was truly working himself into a panic, somebody smacked him right in the face. 

He spluttered, coming awake to a sharp stinging sensation in his nose, and reached up to protect his face before he’d even opened his eyes. His hand struck somebody else’s hand — cold, with long fingers — and he realized as he checked his nose for bleeding that he wasn’t on the bridge at all. He was in bed; he’d had a run-of-the-mill stress dream, that was all.

He—

“Quickly, Gilad,” Thrawn said, his voice sharp. Pellaeon blinked in the darkness and felt Thrawn’s hand thump him none-too-gently on the chest.

“Quickly what?” he said, bewildered, still holding his nose. 

“The square root of two hundred forty-five,” said Thrawn.

“What?” Pellaeon reached down to grab Thrawn’s hand, but Thrawn moved out of reach at once, shifting his grip to Pellaeon’s shoulders and tugging him, against his will, into a sitting position. “What the hell is the matter with you?” Pellaeon groused, still clutching his nose. “You hit me in the face!”

Thrawn’s glowing red eyes were centered on his with a cold determination that sent shivers up Pellaeon’s spine. “What is standard protocol when a shuttle’s thrusters fail before docking?” he asked.

Pellaeon opened his mouth — not to answer, but to continue berating Thrawn — but before he could say anything, Thrawn raised his hand directly in front of Pellaeon’s face and started snapping his fingers insistently.

“ _Stop_ that,” Pellaeon said, pushing Thrawn’s hand away. “Seven hells, Thrawn, what’s the matter with you? What’s wrong?”

Thrawn sat back on his heels. Like Pellaeon, he was shirtless and his hair was tousled from sleep; unlike Pellaeon, he looked sharp and unruffled, as if he’d been awake for hours. 

“You had some sort of sleep disturbance,” he said evenly, making a vague gesture. “I thought you might appreciate some distraction.”

It took Pellaeon longer than it should have to process that. He stared at Thrawn, then belatedly removed his hand from his own nose and checked his fingers for blood. Thrawn raised an eyebrow, as if he found this all rather melodramatic.

“I didn’t _harm_ you,” he said, sounding mildly offended.

“You hit me in the face,” said Pellaeon, unable to believe it. “Because I had a nightmare?”

Thrawn said nothing. He didn’t look particularly apologetic.

“Did you even _try_ to wake me up the normal way first?” Pellaeon asked. 

“The normal way?” Thrawn asked, his eyes narrowing. “Explain.”

“ _Explain_?” Pellaeon settled back onto his back and stretched his legs out, making sure to kick Thrawn in the thigh as he did so. It was his dearest hope that he ‘accidentally’ pushed Thrawn off the bed in the process of lying down, but after that first kick, Thrawn nimbly climbed over Pellaeon’s legs and settled down on the other side of him.

“Thrawn,” said Pellaeon wearily, “when _you_ have a nightmare, how do I wake you?”

Thrawn said nothing. He gave Pellaeon a doubtful look that seemed to suggest he didn’t _have_ nightmares.

“You don’t remember,” said Pellaeon. “See?”

Thrawn rolled onto his side to face Pellaeon, propping himself up on his elbow. “I do not see,” he said. 

“You don’t remember because I wake you _gently_ ,” Pellaeon hissed, rubbing his sore nose. “And then you go right back to sleep. _That’s_ the normal way.”

“You don’t wake up when I have nightmares,” Thrawn argued. He was so self-confident in this _entirely incorrect_ statement that for a moment Pellaeon could only stare at him, open-mouthed. “In any case, Gilad, distraction is the best method to deal with sleep disturbances. If one successfully distracts—”

“ _Distraction_?” Pellaeon repeated. “You hit me in the face and asked me what the square root of two hundred and forty-five is!” 

“Well,” said Thrawn, sinking back down against the mattress, “what did you dream of?”

For a long moment, Pellaeon said nothing, unwilling to admit that he couldn’t remember. Thrawn’s eyes shifted over his face, studying him, and then a faint, smug smile touched his lips. 

“I do _so_ wake up when you have nightmares,” Pellaeon grumbled.

“No, you don’t, Gilad,” said Thrawn, not even considering for a moment that he might be wrong. 

“I do,” Pellaeon insisted. “You just don’t remember those times because — and you might find it hard to believe this — _my_ method works _better_ than yours.”

Thrawn scoffed at that. “Your method, as you call it, is to lie asleep while I lie awake recuperating,” he said. “I think it’s far better for me to distract you than for you to lie awake for an hour silently meditating to calm yourself down.”

“My _method_ ,” said Pellaeon, unwilling to let it go, “is to gently wake you the moment I notice a change in your breathing. For example, you remember the knives dream?”

Thrawn opened his mouth, then closed it again, staring at Pellaeon with a line between his eyebrows.

“The knives dream?” Pellaeon prompted. When Thrawn still looked uncertain, he said, “Or perhaps I should call it the knives _night terror._ ” 

“I’ve never had nightmares about knives,” Thrawn murmured. He touched his chest absently, without seeming to realize it.

“See, you don’t _think_ you have nightmares about knives,” Pellaeon said. “Because when you do, I handle it by _holding_ you, instead of _smacking you in the face_.”

Thrawn gave him an unimpressed look, but Pellaeon could tell he was still hung up on the details of the dream in question. He sighed.

“The knives dream,” he said. “One night, I woke up and saw you lying on the floor with the blankets — _my_ blankets, by the way — pulled over you and your hands over your head. I asked you what you were doing. You mumbled something about there being _knives_ on the ceiling and advised me to _take cover_.”

“That never happened,” said Thrawn firmly.

“And I handled it,” said Pellaeon, ignoring this interruption. “ _Without_ smacking you. I got you back into bed and then I simply—” He shoved Thrawn’s shoulder roughly. “Roll over,” he ordered.

With a quiet huff, Thrawn rolled over until he was facing the wall.

“And then I did this,” said Pellaeon, wrapping his arms around Thrawn and tugging him closer. He folded his hands over Thrawn’s chest, so he could feel him breathing, and his nose brushed the back of Thrawn’s neck. “And then you fell back asleep at once,” Pellaeon said, lowering his voice.

For a moment, Thrawn said nothing. He’d relaxed the moment Pellaeon put his arms around him and now seemed to be falling asleep against his will. Pellaeon was just starting to think he’d won the argument when Thrawn shifted in his arms again, rolling over to face Pellaeon without breaking the embrace.

“I’d remember if you did this,” Thrawn claimed, his nose practically touching Pellaeon’s. 

“Obviously, you wouldn’t,” Pellaeon said. “The whole _point_ is that you wouldn’t. Whereas, this?” He extricated a hand from around Thrawn’s waist and, while Thrawn was busy gazing into his eyes with a faintly amused smile, smacked him right in the nose. Thrawn drew back with a startled hiss. “ _This_ , I’m sure to remember in the morning,” Pellaeon said.

Thrawn digested that, giving Pellaeon a contemplative look as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“But you won’t remember the nightmare,” he said shrewdly.

“Oh, for—”

Innocently, Thrawn wrapped his arms around Pellaeon’s waist and pulled him closer, cutting off any further argument. With one hand tangled in Pellaeon’s hair, he guided his head down to the crook of Thrawn’s neck and twined their legs together. 

“You know,” said Pellaeon, his voice muffled against Thrawn’s shoulder, “you’re always allowed to wake me. If I don’t wake up on my own. When you have a nightmare, that is.”

Thrawn gave an amused hum that Pellaeon felt vibrating through his skin. 

“I’ll keep that in mind, Gilad,” he said. “Thank you for granting me permission.”

Pellaeon rolled his eyes. As if he sensed Pellaeon’s exasperation, Thrawn held him closer and capitulated.

“I will endeavor not to distract you again,” he said.

“Not to distract me _violently_ ,” Pellaeon corrected, his hands flat against Thrawn’s broad, muscled back. “You’re allowed to distract me in _other_ ways. Just don’t smack me in the nose.”

“I’ll try,” said Thrawn. “But you must admit, you feel better now, yes?”

Pellaeon said nothing.

“And that is at least partially because of violence,” Thrawn continued cheerfully, his breath brushing against Pellaeon’s hair. “So if nothing else works, I will of course—”

Pellaeon thumped him on the back hard enough to elicit a choked sound, half-pained and half-amused.

“Go the fuck to sleep,” Pellaeon told him.


End file.
